Today I tried to hug you. You held me back with your arms on my shoulders and told me about something rude that someone just did to you.

When words stopped flowing out of your mouth I tried to hug you again because something inside me was out of place and I wanted you to fix it.

You turned away, and the moon fell out of orbit. It jolted, just a few millimeters to the left, not even noticeable to telescopes stuck on the Earth.

But I felt it.

You want to study astrology so I painted the stars, and gave them to you.

A few short months ago I called you, the night sky already shadowing the world, and I held back tears for a moment before you told me you were coming over. The purest blue shined on us as I cried to you, then, the moon, was full and bright.

See, you weren’t someone I ever expected to write poetry about.

But when you unknowingly let your roots grow under the fence into someone else’s garden you give them the right to dig them up.

I wish I knew if you wanted my roots there, or if they are to much of a burden. A hindrance underneath the garden that you never let me see.

You’ve never told me what you grow there, but I suspect that there won’t be anything growing if I checked.

Because past the fence that you’ve painted like a full sleeve tattoo I know there is not enough paint to cover up how barren you “Garden” is.

I still wish you would let me even peek over the fence, because then maybe I’d know whether you ever want me to hug you again.

Or if I should be the friend content in knowing that you’d never let me look over the beauty and into your shame.